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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473677">it doesn't matter where i go (without you i'll never be home)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra'>lux_et_astra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>NCIS [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Covid-19 (implied), F/M, Songfic, Sort of? - Freeform, also based on share your address by ben platt, also based on the promo pictures of ellie in the green shirt in 18x08, based on the comment about ellie changing her emergency contact, emergency contact</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:49:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"And the only thing that Bishop did this morning was update her emergency contact data."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ellie Bishop/Nick Torres, past Ellie Bishop/Qasim Naasir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>NCIS [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it doesn't matter where i go (without you i'll never be home)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title and vaguely the fic based on Share Your Address by Ben Platt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nick’s making a late-night/early-morning coffee for himself when the phone rings.</p>
<p>For a moment, he contemplates not answering it. It’s -- he checks his watch -- two in the morning, and he’s not on call. He has better things to do than deal with telemarketers or those calls that ask him if he’s been in an accident recently.</p>
<p>But it might be Gibbs, and he knows he’s supposed never to be unreachable. It might be Tim, or Jack, or a million other people he doesn’t want to leave hanging.</p>
<p>It might be Ellie.</p>
<p>So he crosses the room and lifts it off his kitchen counter. The ID identifies the caller as Sibley Memorial Hospital, and he frowns, concerned, and answers.</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>“Is this Nicholas Torres?” The voice on the other end of the phone is smooth and female, and does nothing to assuage Nick’s worries. Why would they be calling him? Has something happened to Lucia, or his mom? </p>
<p>“Yes, speaking,” he says. “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“I understand you’re the emergency contact for an Eleanor Bishop?”</p>
<p>In his sudden panic, this doesn’t register fully. “Is she okay? I’m on my way.”</p>
<p>“There is nothing to worry about, Mr Torres,” the woman says, and it does little to slow Nick’s racing heartbeat. “She’s absolutely fine. She’s just sprained her ankle, and we’d like to arrange someone to drive her home.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Nick says. “Yeah, sure. I’m coming. I’ll be half an hour.” He hangs up, and leans against his fridge for a moment, catching his breath. That moment they’d said her name, when every worst-case scenario had run through his head… he’s had enough of her almost dying. He really has.</p>
<p>The drive, actually, only takes him twenty minutes, and he realises as he’s pulling into the hospital parking lot that he might have been driving just a little faster than necessary. He pulls a mask on and enters the reception.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he says to the receptionist. “I’m looking for Ellie Bishop?”</p>
<p>He’s directed to the orthopedic wing, and she’s lying on a white bed. She looks so small and angelic asleep. Her blonde hair is scattered across the pillow and he wants to just press a kiss to her forehead.</p>
<p>“Mr Torres?” </p>
<p>He turns around to see a nurse behind him. “Nick, please,” he says. “Is she okay?”</p>
<p>“Just a sprained ankle,” the nurse says. His eyes crinkle in a smile. “She told us she slipped on the way home from her friend’s house. We’d have let her call you herself, but she was tired -- fell asleep. Not that I can blame her. It’s pretty late.”</p>
<p>Nick is glad of that. If Ellie had been the one to call, he’s not sure it would have been him she’d have chosen.</p>
<p>“Thank you for calling me,” he says. He crosses to Ellie and brushes a stray wisp of blonde hair from her forehead. Ellie stirs and mumbles something. “Hey, Bishop,” he says. “Gotta get up.”</p>
<p>Ellie’s eyes flutter open and she glances up at him. “Nick?” she asks, suddenly awake. “What are you doing here?” </p>
<p>“Getting you home,” he says. “Come on.”</p>
<p>He helps her up. She’s barefoot, her black heels discarded by the bed. There’s an elastic bandage wrapped around her right ankle, and she visibly winces when she puts weight on it.</p>
<p>“Here,” says the helpful nurse, and offers her a crutch in his gloved hand. “Use this until it’s no longer painful to walk on.”</p>
<p>Ellie pulls a face, but accepts it. She slides her arm into it and Nick helps her out to the reception. The automatic doors open and Ellie glances at the gravel path, and the black heels in Nick’s hand.</p>
<p>“Give them back,” she says, but Nick snatches them out of her grasp. </p>
<p>“Nah ah,” he says, and instead, swoops her into a bridal carry.</p>
<p>“Nick!” she gasps in surprise, and swats at his shoulder. “Put me down, I’m fine!”</p>
<p>“I’m not gonna let you walk in those heels,” Nick says. “They’re like a foot high!”</p>
<p>“Five inches at most,” Ellie grumbles. It suddenly occurs to Nick that they’re very fancy heels, and she’s wearing a very pretty green dress. Was she on a date? Oh, god, is he taking her home after she’s been on a date with another guy?</p>
<p>“Nick,” says Ellie, snapping him out of it. “Either put me down, or let’s go.”</p>
<p>“As you wish, your majesty,” Nick teases, and carries her easily across to his car. He puts her down ungracefully in the passenger seat and she squeals in surprise, laughing. He glances at her ankle, hoping he hasn’t accidentally hurt her. That’s the last thing he’d want to do.</p>
<p>He hasn’t, though, and she’s smiling when he gets back into the driver’s seat, her mask lying on the dashboard. Her eyes are tired, though, so Nick grabs his NCIS jacket from the back of the car and offers it to her.</p>
<p>“Oh, thanks, but I’m not cold,” she says.</p>
<p>“Bunch it up and put it against the window,” Nick says. “Get some rest.”</p>
<p>Ellie looks surprised, and she looks like she’s about to argue, but she’s cut off by a yawn. She laughs. “Maybe you’re right,” she says, and he smiles. Of course he is.</p>
<p>He drives slower this time. Precious cargo, his mind offers, and he shakes his head. He’s just being mindful of her injury. And maybe he doesn’t want to wake her. So he skips the shortcut with all the potholes he’d used earlier, and drives the long way around instead.</p>
<p>“Ellie,” he says, when they’re parked. “Come on. We’re home-- here. We’re here.”</p>
<p>Ellie stirs. “This isn’t my apartment,” she says, blinking sleepily.</p>
<p>“Miss Observant,” teases Nick. “No, it’s mine. Come on.”</p>
<p>“Why are we at your apartment?” Ellie asks, stubbornly crossing her arms across her seatbelt so Nick can’t unhook it.</p>
<p>“Because that ankle needs ice and elevation,” Nick says, lifting his eyebrows, “and I know you wouldn’t do it if you were alone.”</p>
<p>Ellie reluctantly relents. Yes, thinks Nick in his head. That’s the second time he’s been right this evening.</p>
<p>He helps her hobble up the stairs and unlocks the door, letting her go in first. She stops just inside the doorway, looking around.</p>
<p>“So this is the famous apartment,” she says, softly teasing. She turns to look at him. “I like it.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Nick says, shrugging. He’s not exactly sure why he hasn’t invited her over yet. He guesses… Well, inviting her into his apartment is like inviting her into his heart. But he’d dropped everything at two in the morning to come to her aid. Somehow, without him realising, she’s burrowed into his heart already. What’s more, he’s not sure he minds.</p>
<p>He gets the first aid kit from the bathroom closet and brings it back to where Ellie’s sat down on the sofa. He props her ankle up on three cushions, then wraps the edge of one of the blankets in the basket by the sofa around it and rests an icepack on top.</p>
<p>“You really don’t have to do this,” Ellie says. Nick lifts his eyebrows at her.</p>
<p>“You’re the one who made me your emergency contact, Ellie,” he says. Ellie looks away, her cheeks colouring.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she mumbles. Nick is confused.</p>
<p>“Sorry?” he asks. “I don’t mind, Ellie. I’m just… I want to know why, I guess.”</p>
<p>She shrugs. “It was Qasim,” she says, and it’s practically a whisper. “After the explosion, they… They tried to call him.” She shakes her head, and she looks on the verge of tears. “I had to tell them he was dead, and…”</p>
<p>Nick rests on the edge of the sofa and pulls her into a gentle hug, careful not to jostle the icepack. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and rubs her back. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>She pulls away, and wipes at her eyes. The shoulder of his T-shirt is a little damp, but he doesn’t mind. “You just made sense,” she admits. “You were the first person I thought of, when I-- when I wasn’t on that plane. You were the person I was… happiest to see.”</p>
<p>Nick can’t express how he feels, hearing her say this. I love you, he wants to say. I think about you all the time, I worry about you all the time, and I’d love nothing more than to be the person to be there for you when you’re in trouble.</p>
<p>“I was pretty happy to see you too,” he says instead, and she smiles.</p>
<p>“Thanks for coming tonight,” she says. “It was just so stupid, I mean, the steps outside Kasie’s house are a health and safety risk, honestly, and it was so late I didn’t want to bother her by going back in, and…” She shrugs. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry I called you out so late, and… and it means a lot to me that you came anyway.”</p>
<p>“Always,” says Nick, before he can think better of it. The smile that spreads across Ellie’s face is miles worth it. He doesn’t say, though, how relieved he is to hear the friend’s house she’d been at was Kasie’s. He doesn’t quite know how he’d explain that one.</p>
<p>“You should go to bed,” Ellie says. “I’ll be fine here.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nick says. “I’ll take the couch.”</p>
<p>Ellie pauses for a moment, and she has this look, and it’s so small and sincere and simple. “We could share?”</p>
<p>“The bed?” Nick asks. Ellie nods.</p>
<p>“It’s not like we haven’t before,” she says. “On stakeouts, and… and other times. I mean you don’t have to, but--”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Nick says, before his brain can realise what a bad idea it is. “Okay.”</p>
<p>He helps her to the bed, and looks away as she changes into his old FLETC T-shirt and a pair of his pyjama shorts. She looks so funny, drowned in his clothes. She looks so perfect. Like she belongs in his clothes, in his bedroom, in his apartment. In his heart.</p>
<p>He lies down, his head looking up at the ceiling and resting on the cool pillow. She lies next to him, her head turned so her cheek is pressed against her own pillow and he can feel her breath faintly on her cheek.</p>
<p>“Good night, Nick,” she whispers, and rolls over. Her hand finds his under the covers, and he doesn’t let go.</p>
<p>“Good night, Ellie,” he whispers back.</p>
<p>When he wakes up, her head is resting on his lightly rising and falling chest, and their hands are intertwined. He feels more rested than he has in months. </p>
<p>He offers her his favourite old green shirt to wear when Tim calls them into work, and she ditches the crutch in his bedroom in favour of painkillers, but, at his insistence, leaves the elastic bandage. He wonders if she knows it means she’ll have to come back for the crutch later. He thinks she might.</p>
<p>They arrive at the bullpen, and he chances a glance across at her, seated at her desk. She’s distracted, looking at her computer screen, and she’s beautiful.</p>
<p>So maybe he wants more. Maybe he wishes she could wake up tangled in his sheets, head on his chest, every morning. Maybe he wishes she knew where he kept his blankets and first-aid kit without him having to get them. Maybe he wishes she had a key to his apartment, that she knew where he hid his snacks and his trinkets, that she were in all the photos he doesn’t have yet on his walls.</p>
<p>But he’s her emergency contact, and he’s the first person she thinks of, and she comes to him when she needs someone.</p>
<p>And for now, maybe that’s enough.</p>
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